


Trust Me

by Librarity



Series: Gobblepotalliance2019 [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Because of Drinking, Denial of Feelings, Dom/sub Undertones, Drunken Kissing, Drunken Shenanigans, Feels, Gobblepotalliance2019, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Morning After, POV Oswald Cobblepot, Season/Series 05, Slightly Dom!Oswald, Surprise Kissing, it's mild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-05-07 08:01:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19205230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Librarity/pseuds/Librarity
Summary: Oswald never expected his night to end the way it did.  He could never have predicted Jim Gordon would fall into his lap, not like that.Gobblepotalliance2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Gobblepotalliance 2019**  
>  Prompts:  
> 1.One surprising the other  
> 2.Arguing with each other

Gotham City Hall with all its grand marble columns and ornate construction was practically made for Penguin's taste. He felt like a king in his castle and he did not particularly mind the imagery. The citadel had been his once and it was his again, as it always should have been. Generally speaking, he was a king of his own province, the lord of his subjects now. By far, save the GCPD, his territory was the safest of all. So far as he was concerned, in this apocalyptic hell, he might as well have a castle; have his figurative cake and eat it too. 

Oswald Cobblepot was already cornering the market on bullets and that would ensure his place at the top of it all. There was little doubt he would be king of the ruined city once more. The other gangs could not hope to stand against him. He was a superior player in the game of strategy underway. Then again, he always had been considering he toppled Kingdoms single handed on more than one occasion. Regimes that stood in Penguin's way had a habit of crumbling, they always had done. 

Being marooned on a death trap did not mean he was in any way incapacitated. Granted, he never hoped to see things come to this point but they had already devolved into disaster, one might as well take advantage. As they said; " _You can't keep a good man down._ " Penguin made it work, even when the world was crumbling.

Seated in the governor's huge, high back, imported leather chair, he at least looked the part. The mass destruction of the city aside, things had calmed considerably once everyone worth their salt had carved out a territory. It might not be the normal of days gone by, but it was normal enough. 

Or it had been until he had been given word that, despite the considerably late hour, the fearless leader of the Green Zone himself was paying a call. He was unannounced, though that was far from a surprise, even now. Jim was never one to understand the change in tides nor one to heed it. Unlike Penguin, Jim was something of a foolish idealist that expected things to magically rectify themselves. Jim believed someone would see the light and find enough humanity to save them; Oswald held no such illusions, he was more about adapting to what you had to work with.

One of the young singers in the choir nervously opened the door, more afraid than ever before of incurring Penguin's wrath in a city with no semblance of law, "Captain G-Gordon is here, Sir."

Oswald restrained a smile,  amused by the mousey behavior. There had been a time when people snarled his name,  now they whispered it reverently.  Things had changed a great deal over the years and he could not say he missed the old days. 

"Where is Penn?" He asked more out of curiosity than actual displeasure at his absence. 

"H-he is asleep, Mr. P-Penguin, but I can wake him if you-"

Oswald waved a hand at him quickly, "No, no, no, I was only asking. I don't need him, let him sleep." On second thought, "You should go to bed too. I can handle Gordon."

Whatever it was the man wanted, no doubt there would be a lot of shouting. As he did not yet know the subject matter on the table he could only deduce it would be better to have the talk in privacy. It was not as if he was afraid to see him alone. For all their considerable issues they were well past being dangerous to each other. He had progressed from the cowering umbrella boy that Jim could glare at and intimidate. 

James Gordon waltzed right in the open door, and the little singer scurried away instantly, only just remembering to shut the door as he fled the vicinity. Jim looked like the typical cop you found in any state; blonde hair conservatively cut, wide chest, thick arms, slim hips, and long legs. While Jim was not the inverted mountain Butch had been, he was still more than sufficiently built. He looked every inch the cop that he was, blue blood running in his veins. Looking at him in the dim lights of the evening though, and Oswald could spot a few discrepancies from the usual appearance. 

The shadows under his eyes were more pronounced than usual, his blue eyes were glazed, one of his hands kept twitching until it settled on his hip, finger hooking into the belt loop, and Oswald could detect a particular scent the minute he walked in. It was absolutely clear that the man had consumed a few glasses of liquid spirit.

That made him wonder if he might not have been a bit off the mark in assuming Jim was a hopeless idealist about their current predicament. Perhaps Jim saw things more clearly than he initially assumed he did if he was trying to drown himself. Maybe Jim saw things with plenty of clarity and only pretended to see through rose colored glasses. Perhaps he could be shaken after all. 

Penguin did not bother to stand for his uninvited guest. 

Jim’s gait was unsteady as he swayed his way forward and Oswald wondered just how much he had to drink in one sitting, “Well, this is a surprise, Jim! What brings the fearless leader of the Green Zone to my door at this time of night?” He leaned forward in his chair, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “Haven’t you heard? It’s dangerous out there?”

He received word a considerable amount of time before the door opened that Jim was headed for his new conquest in City Hall. Oswald had known the second the illustrious _Green Zone_ leader crossed his border and he granted him amnesty in his passage if only to find out what he wanted.

Jim said nothing, he merely stared like he was stunned to be in the room so Oswald continued, “I could have had you shot, you know?”

Jim bobbed his head unevenly, “Yeah. But you didn’t.” His speech was only a little slurred but that was hardly a surprise considering how much he knew Jim tended to drink on a regular basis.

Oswald tossed himself back to lounge in the chair, “What, might I ask, made you decide to come here in the dead of night when even the insane know you should be hiding in a bunker?”

“To see you.” Jim offered as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

“Obviously, I gathered that much! What I think you should explain, _post haste_ , is the reason you thought you could waltz right in!” Not that the assumption had been wrong but he could not let there be a precedent set. Again. 

“You let me in,” Jim stated simply and Oswald guessed he was commenting, in his particular way, that he had been right to assume he could. Again.

Oswald took a long breath and ran a hand over his face, “Why are you here, Jim? What did you come here to ask of me, hm?”

Jim ambled closer again, unsteady on his feet, but seemingly determined, “I just needed to.”

"Is that supposed to be an explanation?"

Oswald was moments from yelling, from making demands, when Jim slammed both hands on the arms of the chair, effectively caging him in. It seemed less a power move and more an effort of necessity to catch himself from toppling over, but being face to face with Jim always took his breath away for a moment. This time it seemed to do the same to Jim. His blue eyes were so huge as he stared, mouth hanging open slightly in surprise.

There was absolute silence, a stillness that settled between them. Oswald determined that Jim simply had to be more than slightly drunk when he found himself with Gordon suddenly in the chair with him, a knee on either side of his hips, straddling him. He was being surprisingly careful, not putting his weight on Oswald, not really sitting in his lap so much as hovering, nearly there, but not settled.

Oswald tilted his chin up to look the man in the eye and found there was hardly anything left of the baby blue to be found, the black blown impossibly wide. Those big hands of Jim’s moved to rest on the wings of the high-back chair and Oswald had a bad feeling he knew what the next move was about to be.

“Jim,” Oswald warned, but it was a bit too late when Jim dove down for him, lips pressed insistently to his.

His chest positively jumped, like his heart was trying to reach Jim through his ribs when warm, soft lips moved against his and he struggled desperately to retain the knowledge of why this was a very bad idea. The strong taste of alcohol flooded his mouth from the kiss alone and that timid little dab of Jim’s tongue at the seam of his lips. It was immensely surreal and he could hardly believe he had not simply fallen asleep in his chair. Those plump lips felt better than the criminal ever dreamed they would and it took every shred of his willpower to turn his head away as opposed to diving in head first.

“James!” He hissed, sinking his fingers into the arms of the leather chair to keep them off those tempting hips on offer, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I…” Jim hesitated, stammering, “k-kissing you?”

“Thank you, I gathered that!” He snapped.

Oswald closed his eyes to keep them off the column of Jim’s throat but that was a mistake. Jim’s lips found a new occupation as if too soothe the welling temper, traveling feather light over Oswald’s cheek, his jaw, the tip of his ear, and finally his pulse point. It felt like being branded on each spot that mouth touched and he wanted it to spread considerably farther. There was no way it could feel anything but incredible.

It was a non-option, of course, and he tried to pull that fact forward past his mental chorus of ' _more_.' Every functioning brain cell in Oswald’s mind told him to push the other man away. Pity there were currently so very few functioning brain cells to work from. A shiver of pleasure ran like electricity all over his body when Jim focused those sinful lips on his throat.

“Jim!” Oswald hardly sounded accusing or in any way objectionable, so he cleared his throat and tried again, “Jim! That really is enough!”

It was a grave mistake to put a hand on Jim’s hip considering his traitorous fingers only gripped and kneaded rather than pushing away the object of years of pent up desire. He felt that sharp bone jutting out under the soft flesh,  like a handle begging him to pull him closer. 

“Please?” Jim, ever articulate and yet so intensely effective at convincing the mobster to bend to his will.

“Oh God, James, no, absolutely not! You are drunk out of your mind!” That ‘please’ really… did things to him, but so did those lips.

One of the most powerful leaders left in Gotham lowered himself just a little more, still not entirely sitting in the mobster’s lap, but moving those trim hips in a slight, grinding sway. Oswald’s other hand found its way to the opposite hip as he struggled to maintain control over his breathing rather than allow himself to be turned into a panting wreck. If his hands encouraged the motion of those hips,  he would never admit it. 

Oswald knew he should be doing more than a token protest, he was aware, but his willpower had decided to take a sabbatical. This was possibly the worst time to forget how to show restraint but years of looking, admiring, and never touching were clearly at a culmination. It was a horrible idea to permit this to continue but he was unfortunately in no hurry to rectify his mistake. More than half his mind was entirely busy with developing  elaborate excuses for why they could do this. 

He might be able to posture his reluctance but he was not exactly extracting himself from the situation or shoving the man off but he was not about to openly admit how much he wanted to give in. It was more out of stubbornness that he found another protest to offer than any sort of desire to end things.

“That is quite enough, James Worthington Gordon!” Oswald struggled to find his restraint, though he was not the paragon of self-control he liked to say, and be as authoritative as possible.

That was seemingly not what he should have tried, or perhaps it was exactly right, because Jim’s hips jerked and he let out a needy whine, “Oswald… _ah_ ,” Jim was fairly gasping, his entire body twitching like someone sent a slow moving current of electricity down his spine.

Oswald would swear he tried to stand, that he leaned forward with the intent to force an ending to the situation, but he lost that battle about the time his breath hit that tempting skin of Jim’s neck and the man on top of him bared his throat like an offering.

He had no intention of tasting the skin on offer, he would swear to this, but Jim ground down just right, making them both moan in harmony. Oswald’s eyes fell shut but he could smell Jim’s musky scent past the tang of gunmetal, leather, and alcohol. Jim ground down again, and again, and really, no one could resist this much temptation.

He tried one last time, “Enough! We can't!” But his heart was not in the refusal, hardly getting the words past his lips.

“Please,” Jim breathed, both arms curling around Oswald’s shoulders, pulling him closer.

Just a small taste, a mere caress of lips against his throat made Jim shiver, but when Oswald hissed a curse, “Oh, _fuck_ , Jim,” that brought forth an honest _keen_ from Jim that sounded about as wrecked as Oswald felt.

“I’m only human, Jim…” Oswald mumbled into his neck, stringing kisses down the proffered, delicate skin of Jim's throat, “I can only resist so much. This is your last chance. Back out now and we will forget it ever happened.” He was lying, he would never forget this.

“I need you!” Jim breathed, clinging to him like a life preserver, “I need - I can’t - I need you!”

Oswald reached up and threaded his fingers in Jim’s silky hair to force those dilated eyes to focus on his, “Alright, alright, but you better remember saying that in the morning or I will skin you!”

Jim’s reply was to surge forward and take his lips in a burning kiss. This time Oswald allowed that tongue to do more than beg entry, he opened his mouth and devoured Jim in return, plundering his mouth with slick thrusts of his tongue until the  other man whimpered. This time he kissed Jim like he planned to leave a permanent mark of ownership. It felt electrifying in the best possible way; the soft lips, the tremor of bliss that rippled up his spine, the heat of all that skin under a thin shirt that belonged on the floor. The reedy sound Jim made when he tugged on the short, soft hair closer to the spine could not have been voluntary and that too did things, very addictive things, to the mobster. He would nerve be able to let Jim walk away now. 

Oswald worked a plump lower lip between his teeth while grabbing a hand full of that firm posterior bouncing in his lap. Jim cried out like he had been wounded but that expression was anything but pained. He very much doubted Jim would be so vocal if he were sober and in control of himself but this responsive version was more than slightly adorable. The grinding was getting rougher though and his knee would not endure it forever, so he used his grip on that blonde hair to force Jim to look at him again.

They needed to go somewhere else but Oswald could hardly march Jim past his entire squadron of guards to take him upstairs. There was really only this room open to them now as far as options for venue. He badly needed to acquire a very large couch but that would not happen tonight.

Those kiss red lips were parted on erratic gasps but he could tell Jim was trying to focus, “Get on the floor, Jim. I want to see you spread out on your back for me.”

He had never seen Jim so compliant and eager to follow a command as the man clamored to the ground, settling first on his rump before he shifted slowly down to spread himself out like a Vogue model. Those tight, toned legs spread invitingly, his arms climbing up over his head like an invitation for Oswald to curl his fingers around those wrists to restrain and hold him down. His chest was heaving, hungry eyes fixed on Oswald, non-verbally begging for things he could not and would never vocalize.

“Very good…” Oswald crooned his praise, feeling inexplicably powerful in that moment, more so than he might even have felt when he stood as the victor on the ledge of the bridge and declared himself king.

It was too inviting a sight not to slither down from the chair and experience firsthand. While the floor was not forgiving, he could lay atop Jim, shift to his good side, and compensate rather than having to take the larger man’s weight. Considering how Jim wriggled under him, so obviously desperate and out of his mind with desire, Oswald pushed his luck.

“How long have you wanted this, Jim?” He purred, deeper and husky from his own arousal.

Jim looked him right in the eyes and whispered a nearly frightened, “Always.”

He had no idea what he expected to hear but that answer, open and void of deception, was not it. It made the blood surge in his ears, taking whatever blood was left for his higher functioning mind down south with the rest of his blood.

Oswald rewarded him with a kiss, devouring those soft lips the way he always wanted to, “You’re so gorgeous like this, darling,” he told him honestly.

Jim wrapped his legs around Oswald’s hips, arms draping around his neck in response, “So are you,” he replied, silly grin on his face.

That smile did interesting things to him as well and he was helplessly touched and endeared to be on the receiving end of it. Jim really did not smile enough, he was always so stoic and serious. He was a fortress, unmoving as he was unchangeable. It made him ask a foolish question.

“Why _did_ you come here, Jim?”

He regretted asking when the smile fell away, sad vulnerability replacing it even before he hid his face in Oswald’s neck, “I needed you,” he mumbled wearily and this time it sounded anything but sexual.

“I’m here,” he assured, whispering into Jim’s ear, gently cradling his head, “I’m always here. You can trust me.”

Jim burrowed deeper, daring to sink the fingers of one hand slowly into Oswald hair in return. Oswald nuzzled the side of Jim’s head, kissing his way down Jim’s jaw. That drew Jim out of hiding easily enough and his head lolled back against the floor, offering the other man anything he wanted.

Oswald tipped Jim’s chin down with a finger, pleased by the compliance offered, and touched their lips together, depriving him of a full kiss,  “Sweet darling,” he mumbled into Jim’s mouth, just sharing breaths with him while he watched the hunger building in those pretty eyes.

He tried not to, tried from the first time he set eyes on the glorious man, but he had always worshiped Jim’s very existence. Once Jim saved his life, his fate was sealed, adoration cemented for all time. Try as he might, that intensity of feeling never quite left him be, if anything it got worse for being denied. The 'puppy love' never went away, it only morphed into different things, sublimated into mutual obsession. Though, in all honesty it's lasted longer than any other love had. His mother always told him there was only one great love, he stopped believing it, but maybe this had been his all along.

The cop had always been a forbidden delicacy that Oswald would have sold his kingdom to taste and now it was on offer like a dream wrapped in a horrendous suit. If he took his time absorbing his fill, who could blame him?

He suspected he would never have the chance to see the glorious creature so open ever again but he would relish it while it lasted. He was quite the picture,  so pliant  and vulnerable like this,  which lit a fire like no other inside the kingpin. Oswald shifted very intentionally,  rubbing against everything he knew the shivering man beneath him wanted.  As expected,  Jim was receptive to the act.   
  
Jim groaned and opened his legs a little wider, his erection straining noticeably against his pants.

"Alright,  darling,  are you listening to me?" Oswald crooned against his lips, letting them brush on every word.  

Jim's eyes were glazed over,  blown and unfocused,  but he nodded even though it was very doubtful there was much retention present. 

"We aren't going to have sex today,  I'm not going to fuck you like this."

Jim whined in protest,  hips jerking,  but Oswald quieted him with a peck to the lips, "Listen,  listen,  I'm going to take care of you, I promise. But I won't take you like this." He ground their hips together and Jim gasped, jerking his arms up to slid them around Oswald's shoulders. 

The heat rising up Oswald's neck spread like a fire into his checks,  and normally he would have cared,  but he could not focus on something so trivial at the moment.  Let Jim see,  let him know he was flushed with arousal.  It was hardly a secret at this juncture.  Jim was panting and shivering with his own need as well.  He was quite an exquisite picture,  really,  in more than his beauty.

Jim was clinging to him like he was desperate to be grounded and Oswald cupped his face in both hands,  pulling him into a considerably gentler kiss. Perhaps Jim just needed to be assured more than anything.  Perhaps he needed someone to cling to,  someone to offer him the acceptance he couldn't get from anyone in his own circle. 

There were so few people that knew all of Jim.  He must feel so alone out on the ledge by himself.  People looked to Jim to be their rock,  but at the end of the day,  who did Jim have?

Everyone thought,  no,  expected Jim to be so perfect.  No one was perfect,  no one could take the kind of pressure on Jim's shoulders without beginning to crack. 

"Everything is going to be fine,  Jim." Oswald found himself whispering, "We'll work together,  you don't have to do this alone.  I'll always be here for you, I promise!"

Jim was panting,  moving frantically beneath him, trying to match the rhythm Oswald was swaying to, and he was shaking more than ever, "Oswald... I need you... always need you."

"I know," his touch to Jim's face became more reverent, petting gently, "Let me help you. Trust me!"

"I don't know how," Jim breathed, eyes frightened and lost, his arms gripping tighter, "I don't know how."

"Trust me.  Can you trust me?" Oswald ask,  unsure what answer he would receive. 

Moisture welled in Jim's eyes but did not spill over,  and he nodded,  burying his face in Oswald's neck. The way he held on so desperately, like he was afraid it would vanish if he let go, it broke the last of Oswald restraint.

"You're so good,  my darling!" Oswald told him,  inexplicably determined to assure this strong,  fragile man, "You've been so brave, so strong,  I'm proud of you!" He ran his tongue along Jim's jaw in a quick swipe, "Everything is going to be fine from now on. We will crush our enemies and bend them to our will! Gotham will be under our control in no time.  Nothing can stop us! Not when we rule together, side by side!"

"Oz..." Jim might have been offering protest or agreement,  it was hard to tell. 

Oswald pet his fingers in Jim's hair,  tightening his own hold as he felt his body coiling, "Oh, Jim! We were always meant to do this! Always!  From the first time, I saw you! You belong with me,  you always did!"

"Yes!" He gasped into Oswald's ear, breath shuddering,  his body arching off the floor,  hips jerking a few more times before he stilled, "Oz!"

The little sound Jim made at the end,  an excited little moan of his name was enough to do him in, "Jim!" It took more effort than he ever expected not to shriek loud enough for all his guards to hear,  though he settled for a long string of the man's name whined into his hair.   

It was everything!  Perhaps not how he envisions their first time in his fantasies but that hardly mattered. 

They panted for breath in unison,  entirely synced,  probably right down to their pounding hearts. Only after he was boneless,  laying entirely against a solid body,  did he consider the issues they would both have as far as clothing went. 

His forward thinking had been lacking. He should get up and find something to-

"I love you," Jim whispered,  so softly, and it would have been too quiet to hear if his mouth had not been right beside Oswald's ear. 

His heart positively stopped in his chest,  skipping several beats before it finally resumed it's task. 

Honestly? Clothing was vastly overrated, they could rot.  Moving was also vastly overrated when Jim said something like that. A bomb could not have pried him off the esteemed Captain, not after that. 

He nuzzled closer, pressing his nose into Jim's sweaty skin. Those muscles in his neck were still flexing a little on each heavy breath.  Nothing could have made him leave,  or dislodge him. Nothing was important enough to pull his arms from the man and he clung to him just as badly,  just as fiercely, as Jim held onto him. 

If there were tears streaming down Oswald's checks,  he was not about to point it out to anyone.   He couldn't help it,  not with the way his heart had burst in the best sort of way,  the opposite of pain,  but still a lot like it. 

He tried not to let it show,  holding his breath to control it. Though he suspected,  even in his inebriated afterglow,  Jim still noticed considering he began slow,  soothing strokes along whatever he could reach. Jim shifted them onto their sides,  tucking Oswald into his larger body like a living blanket. 

As overheated as he had gotten,  it was a little uncomfortable to continue absorbing heat but he honestly could not have cared less. 

It didn't take much time for the both of them to fall asleep, tangled together. Even on the floor,  in a less than pristine condition,  it was not enough to negate the comfort of being wrapped up in each other. 

Curled up in Jim's arms,  he had never felt so safe and protected.  He slept more deeply than he had in years with those strong arms shielding him from the world.   
 


	2. Chapter 2

The light dropped in from the window, hitting Oswald directly in his eyes, eating through his eyelids. Even before he so much as attempted to move, he could tell he was going to be stiff. His shoulders felt like there were a few hundred knots tied into the muscles.  He dared not focus much on his bad leg or he just might never move at all. 

Something heavy was settled over his shoulders, draping around him. He tipped his head away from the light before he blinked his eyes open only to find another set, a beautiful blue set peering back. His heart all but stalled, shocked dead in his chest as the panic set in right along with the memory of the _hows_ and the _whys_.

The fearful dread felt like bees coming to life beneath his skin. He was too terrified to move, too unsure and afraid to disturb whatever peace had been existing between them.

Last night he felt so confident,  so positive things would be simpler,  clear cut,  and that he wouldn't freeze like a deer in headlights. In the light of day he felt none of that chutzpah remaining,  it turned to dust like a vampire in the morning light. Last night it had not seemed like such a risk. 

Jim did not flinch away suddenly, placidly staring at him like he was piecing together a complex bit of technology he had no blueprint for. His arms remained around Oswald's smaller body, fingers tracing curious, exploring patterns over whatever part of him they were touching. It might have been a comfort that Jim had not recoiled the moment he had woken under lesser circumstances,  but the potential margins for loss were too high to count even miniscule victories before anything was set in stone. 

The lack of response did not in any way set Oswald's mind to rest. Things could so easily change in a moment. The wrong move could send Jim skittering away. Jim might not be rushing to leave yet but he would and Oswald didn't want him to.  Now that he knew what it felt like to kiss that skin, those lips, to hold him, to be so close to him... there was no way he would let it go without a fight.  He would hold on by whatever means necessary.

Of all the places Jim could have gone, he had come to his territory and that had to mean something! While he may have been drunk during the night,  the things he said had been genuine, raw,  and uninhibited by all the usual filters. 

The confession was beautifully simple, but it meant the whole world to Oswald.  It meant more than anything.  He might never have felt so happy,  so at peace with life,  so fulfilled,  so perfectly ecstatic in all his days.  Jim was the other half of his soul,  he felt it,  knew it as surely as he knew day from night.  They were supposed to be together.  They should always have been together if only Jim could but admit the truth. 

When they worked together,  in the brief moments before ego and pride clashed,  they were an impeccable team.  Gotham thrived when they worked together,  like the city herself knew the truth of what Jim could not admit. Gotham knew, she wanted them to be a force together. They were stronger,  unstoppable together. 

Oswald could never let Jim go after what he said.  It had sounded true, felt like absolution, and utterly ruined him.  If he left now he might never get him back and that would kill him,  he could never survive it.  In the moment he just knew he could never endure watching Jim walk away. 

He had to keep him there,  had to find a way to make him stay.  He needed Jim to see reason rather than that wall of blue he viewed everything from.  Jim's glasses were not rose colored,  they were blue,  the blue of the GCPD,  the spirit and sometimes letter of the law. 

Oswald generally only saw grey,  he knew that,  knew they had vastly different glasses on.  But Jim came to him,  could never stay away for very long.  They belonged together,  and it was that desperate feeling that had him hooking his fingers into Jim's clothes in a death grip; if he tried to run he would have to drag Oswald with him. 

"Do you remember that night in that alley? I told you to trust me or kill me."

Jim's brow crinkle up and he leaned forward,  hiding his face under Oswald's chin the way he had that night. 

"What might we have accomplished then if you'd believed me?"

Jim made a sound,  half whine, half growl. 

"I was on your side, Jim... I've always been on your side.  Perhaps not on anyone's but yours,  but I've always been yours."

"You couldn't just say good morning at least? Before you start the heavy hitting?" Jim whispered hot against the sensitive skin of his throat. 

Oswald's eyes fell shut again to keep the sting of emotion burning the backs of his eyes under control, "Jim..."

There was no way to miss how Jim's hands began to shake as those strong fingers tightened in his shirt, anchoring them tightly together in a fierce exchange, each of them clinging to the other. Oswald thought he might be shaking too. 

"I kept hoping you would come around, that you would eventually understand... you're safe with me, Jim. You may hate me,  but I-"

"I don't hate you." Jim's voice was gravely and low, "I never hated you. I hated that I couldn't hate you. I tried so hard to hate you, it would all have been so easy if I did." He sighed and drew in a long breath, "I hate how you go about things, your methods, what you stand for, but I don't... hate you."

Not hating him was not the same as loving him. Even now he had to wonder himself if it had been nothing but a sweet dream at best; at worst, just a night of longing and loneliness directed at the first receptive being to be found. His confidence in the validity of those words was already crashing down around him, all the happiness turning to ash in his mouth as he already tasted defeat.

Emotions, the need to be near another person did not mean it had been love. Pillow confessions were perhaps true in a moment of passion, but were they true when the haze had worn away and the pressure of reality once again presented itself?

"Last night... you-you said... did you..." He could not bring himself to form the words, terrified of the forthcoming answer in the light of day when the hazy of drink was no longer there. "What do you remember?"

Jim sighed again, chest expanding wide as he took a breath, "I was drunk but I've gotten kind of tolerant over the years. I remember just fine."

Oswald could not keep his lower lip from quivering, fear and crushing loss already crashing in, "I see."

There was no question anymore whether or not Jim knew what Oswald was referring to, "I'm not..."

"Please," Oswald cut him off desperately, clutching his jacket in a death grip, "please... don't say..."  _Don't say you're not in love with me..._ he begged on loop in the confines of his mind, aware that hearing it might kill him on the spot. His chest already hurt like things inside him were breaking.

Jim tipped his head back to look at him, features turning soft, his fingers moving feather light over the wet trail streaking from the corners of his eyes that Oswald failed to hold in, "I..." Jim wavered, eyes stormy and unsure, "I'm not good at this stuff. But... I..." he wiped the fresh wave of helpless tears away with his thumbs, cupping Oswald's face gently in his palms, "I meant it, what I said last night. I just... I meant it. I do, I have for probably a long time."

"Say it then," his words came out in an ugly sob, "tell me, Jim."

Jim swooped in, kissing away the tears like a gentle lover. He kissed one side, then the other, kissing both eyelids, then his nose. Oswald felt tied into a thousand knots, desperate and afraid, but there was the painful sting of hope to consume it all. He was afraid to hope, terrified it was simply another cruel joke life played, that even the smallest crumbs of happiness would again be torn away.

"I meant it," Jim whispered intimately in his ear, "I meant it. I do love you, Oswald. Logic, reason, nothing has ever cured it. I love you no matter how hard I've tried to deny it, it's there. I can't let go, I can't get away from it, I just feel it. I'm not supposed to be in love with you, but I am."

A sob fled his chest, deep from inside him. He wrapped his arms around Jim's shoulders, clinging to him like his life would end if he let him slip away, "Jim, _Jim_ , I love you, I love you, I love you," once he started, he could not stop saying it, the confession bubbling up from his soul.

"Don't cry, please? I'm sorry... I know I've messed up! I should have just... I should have said it before, please don't cry, Oz," he kissed his way over the curves of Oswald's face again.

Oswald chanted the words, "I love you," as Jim kissed his way over his ear and down his neck, "stay with me, I can't be without you anymore... it's been so long."

Jim kissed up his jaw, "I know. Always," he promised before he ended Oswald's stream of words by sealing their lips together.

Oswald melted into him, winding his arms around his neck, and sinking his fingers into his hair. He let the kiss, the promise sweep him away. Even if they had so little chance of survival in the new wasteland of Gotham,  perhaps they could at least be allowed what they never had been before.  Even if he died today he would die happy. 

This was all he ever wanted,  to be allowed this closeness,  to love and be loved by James Gordon.  Perhaps it was a sign that things were about to get much,  much worse as things never went his way long.  He dearly hoped that was not the case,  hoped they could break the cycle. 

In some ways, by surrendering to the pull they always felt,  they already changed so much of their destiny. Giving in to the desperate call of their hearts was the same as stepping outside of their self imposed cages. 

"Oswald," Jim uttered on a breath,  lashes fluttering as he kissed him again,  slow and sensual. 

Some said love was for children,  that it was a great weakness,  but Oswald never really believed that. 

"I do love you,  you know?” Jim drug those lips across Oswald jaw, leaving behind slick, warm trails. 

“Y-yes,” Oswald stuttered, clutching at those strong shoulders. 

It’s everything he's craved since he set eyes on the detective, and they probably both know that. He felt like he was trembling apart but in this case it felt pleasant. Every single nerve ending in Oswald's body was attuned to Jim. He couldn't find anything unpleasant now, not when Jim’s mouth felt warm, safe, accepting, a benediction dragging carefully along the dips of Oswald's throat. 

He pressed his own lips to Jim's ear, hoping he conveyed the same warmth and safety, “My darling... I always will love you.” 

There were butterflies in Oswald’s stomach that fluttered in violent waves when Jim whispered, "I'm sorry I took so long. I do need you, always did."

"We need each other," Oswald whispered,  swooping in for a deep, tangling kiss before he could begin to weep. 

They always came back to each other, one way or another, willingly or otherwise, the universe conspiring in a formerly cruel joke. It tangled them together, bleeding them into each other; the lines had always been blurring. It felt, in the moment like they were fading into one person. A codependent relationship sanctioned by Gotham's design.  But really, that had been true all along, clear back to an alley behind a club. 

Together,  perhaps they might even make it.  Gotham herself did seem to love it when they joined forces.  She thrived when the two of them stood side by side.

* * *

The workers in their drab uniforms gathered around the door, curiously peering at Arthur Penn as he backed out of the room scant moments after entering. His charts were held tightly to his chest as he fixed his sleeves and pointedly planted his feet. He looked them all over,  those waiting to speak to their leader.

There was hint of red in his ears but it vanished quickly as he looked about the hallway. He very pointedly turned his back to them, twisted the key in the lock and pocketed it afterwards.

"Is... everything alright?" A choir member asked tentatively, not entirely sure why they had yet to be allowed in for their usual performance. 

They were used to singing Oswald Cobblepot into the room in the mornings,  following him down the steps and out into the world.  Creatures of habit,  they were,  and their schedule had been entirely thrown off when they discovered no one was in their usual place. 

The older man nodded quickly, moving down the hallway toward the gathered singers and security guards in their black ensembles. They all watched him expectantly, awaiting some manner of verdict or explanation. As the right hand of their leader he was best qualified to both explain the situation and dole out their daily tasks, whatever they might be.

Penn ushered everyone farther from the door, "Mr. Cobblepot is not to be disturbed! He and Captain Gordon have been diligently negotiating an alliance that will greatly benefit us all!  This is very important for us as well as the Green Zone so under no circumstances are they to be swayed from their work!"

And that, it seemed, was all the explanation they were going to get. Penn flashed them all an oddly knowing,  self satisfied gleam in his eye before he scurried off.  He knew something no one else knew and it showed. 


End file.
